“That is a siège d’amour.” “A seat of love? It is a chair designed to facilitate coitus?” I murmured. “Most ingenious and very comfortable, I should think.” I settled myself onto the siège, gripping the arms. “Oh, there are stirrups. How clever.” I raised one booted leg, but Stoker made a strangled noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. “Veronica. For the love of all that is holy and good, get down,” he said, in a low, tight voice unlike any I had ever heard from him before.
I think it is hilarious that Stoker is such a prude yet he knows what all of this stuff is
